


Live and Let Die by WolfVenom (**DISCONTINUED**)

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Turmoil, Kidnapping, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Torture, Torture, Unnamed characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 13:46:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7107439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Widowmaker clocked into the reaper's comm, tuning out imposing static. She hummed a tune until the sounds of shotgun shells hitting the floor subsided. </p>
<p>"Target captured, make your way back now."</p>
<p>Like always, flanking operatives like Reaper and Widowmaker never knew what these targets were. Reaper found this out half a year later.</p>
<p>***ORPHANED***</p>
            </blockquote>





	Live and Let Die by WolfVenom (**DISCONTINUED**)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awshitzombies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awshitzombies/gifts).



> Ahhhh the idea belongs to vickjawn @ tumblr, and they graciously allowed me permission to write a spin-off of their initial plan.

His coat whipped behind him as the man cloaked in shadows stepped one foot after another through the halls, past offices and chambers and rooms of unknown intent. Soldiers passed him by every few seconds, in herds or by their lonesome, hurrying along as the first scent of death reached their very nostrils. Reaper had one location in mind at this moment. To Widowmaker.

He didn't bother with the door, slipping through the cracks beneath the frame in smoke as he reappeared on the other side, the sniper sealed away in the weaponry, shinning her custom rifle.

" _Bonjour_ , little Reaper." She did not lift her head up from her work, skilled hands polishing the muzzle and cleaning out the barrel. "What may I do for you today?"

Her smug and accented tone always ruffled Reaper's feathers, and his eyebrow twitched, already done with this conversation though it had not even started. He stepped unnervingly close and stared her down, arms crossed.

"We have reports of the new operative. And I have suspicion to believe this is related to the 'Seventy-Six Case' six months ago. Who is this new soldier?" He said, letting the tone of his voice do the threatening for him. Though nary a time it worked on a woman like Widowmaker.

The lady in mention scoffed and propped up her weapon, giving it a once over before setting it down and murmuring native tongue under her breath.

"Infamous vigilante Soldier 76. That is all I know. We do not know who he is or why he is our priority, and only today we have permission to greet him." She mumbled, rising to her feet and brushing cleaning oils off her gloved hands.

Reaper hissed in frustration. "The annoying rat was the one captured?" This was news to him. "He's been on my nerves ever since he thwarted our mission years back."

She did not give him the satisfaction of any more words, simply waving him off and sauntering out of the weaponry, gun in a solid grip at her side. Reaper hummed and departed, sated with what little information he got.

Soldier 76... A grand new addition to the elite ops unit.

***

Holding cells were filled to the brim that evening, both with civilians, omnic and human, to agents accused of treason or spy activity. The main priority cell held the newest recruit, and Reaper made it his main objective to see who this new face was.

Four guards stood positioned before the door, straightening with Reapers approach. The door whisked open at his mere command and he proceeded inside with little mind.

The only pieces of furniture was a chair and a bed, the scent of blood overpowering even for the masked man. He knew some of the stains were weeks, even months old, and some were as fresh as an hour ago. The walls looked like a child's red finger painting, and upon the chair seated in the middle of the room sat a man, head down and hands chained in front of him, the light from the ceiling showing Reaper a sight of white hair marked by crimson that he only assumed was from the same person the pictures on the wall came from.

"You. I want your name," Reaper demanded, voice too chilly for comfort, "or I will make sure you leave here a ghost by the time I'm done with your bullshit."

The man shrugged, head still low, but he twiddled his thumbs between his cuffs, swaying his head to and fro.

"Seventy-six." Came the reply, muffled, mostly by the mask placed before his features. This was definitely that Soldier 76 man.

But this wasn't what he was looking for.

"I don't care what you call yourself, superman. I want your real name, or I'll gut you like a damn fish." Reaper growled, pulling up his shotgun.

Soldier 76 hummed, his voice grizzled and rough.

"You tell me..."

When Soldier looked up, Reaper saw the mask and his forehead, scars adorning the flesh and grit caked into his visible features. This mask covered his eyes, not in red but in black, and the blue was replaced with a cover similar to a muzzle 'round his mouth. Every breath was labored through ventilation in the mask and his voice was resonated like through a walkie-talkie.

"I cannot see you but I can hear you, Reaper. My mission is to follow orders. My sight won't stop me from crushing you, should you get in my way-" Soldier coughed, elbows resting on his knees and hunching down.

After his little outburst, he looked up, as if he could see Reaper, and the ghost's growing fury at the defiance.

"I don't know who you are, or who I am. That's your answer."

And Reaper became so enraged by the inferiority he grabbed the soldier by his hair and pulled his head up, digging metal claws into his scalp. The smell of blood was much more pungent up close, but it was like lilies to Reaper.

He did not speak, but let actions speak for him, jerking the agent's head back and shoving him left, where he fell to the floor, mask smashing against the ground and bits spraying tile. When he looked back up, pieces were embedded into his flesh, but he did not care. With eyes as blue as the ocean, he looked up at Reaper and smiled, red dribbling from his lips.

"There's Gabriel, I see."

Anger evaded him, then. Thoughts replaced by emotions and vigorous confusion and _why_ , as the man before him resembled so much to someone once adored yet acted like the blood on his lips was wine delivered straight from the Gods. Like death looking him in the eye was a lover returning home from work and that pain was a reward for hard work.

This description was summed up by two things. If Widowmaker was any example, Talon bestowed murderous intent upon those who once had even the purest of intentions, and that a man as proud, sturdy and innocent as Jack Morrison could become filled with nothing but pain and blood lust.

And Reaper witnessed this the hard way.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Multiple chapters ahead! Sorry for low quality first chapter, I'll patch it up soon. The rest of the story has much more going on! Not beta-d yet.


End file.
